I Was Born to Suffer
by The Lonely Goddess
Summary: For my English class I had to take a short story and continue it from the last word. I am really quite proud of this, so please don't hate. The story I continued is in bold and written by ilurandir here on this site.


**She looked so beautiful, Erik thought, unable to quite catch his breath. And for a moment anger flared up in him, raced down his arms like pain because all he could hear was his heart thudding loudly in his ears, and he wanted this to be perfect. He wanted to _hear_ her, singing his words. _His _opera.**

**He pulled in a few long, slow breaths, his eyes fixed on her. He could still feel the man behind him dying in his hands, dying under the simple force of his own fingers, his own arms and it was _his_ fault that he was still struggling to master himself now, in this moment that he could feel, that he _knew_ would change everything.**

**She was so beautiful, she was so alive, and he'd written this for her, all of it. Of course she mastered it. Of course she would. Of course. He was on the stage now, eyes and ears only for her. He forgot the audience.**

**He still hadn't gotten a grip on himself. His heart was still pounding so fast he wondered if it might kill him. The hooded cloak kept her out of his vision, but he could hear her, somehow, everything, under the music - or over it. Her shoes on the floor, and the breaths she took, oh Christine.**

**He jumped when she touched him, his shoulders - somehow not expecting it in spite of seeing the opera so many times, from up in the rafters, up in box 5 - her hands, so small, her voice ringing in his ears, vibrating in his bones. He ached for it, for her - singing his words, and she felt them. She felt everything she sang - he had taught her well, yes. His Christine. His angel of music.**

**When he raised his hands, unrehearsed, waiting for hers, hoping desperately for hers, they shook, and he hadn't even time to curse himself for it because her fingers entwined with his, so warm against him, and fragile - hollow bird-bones in her fingers, her wrists. She pressed against his back for a moment, and everything about her was hollow, just like he was - but they could make each other whole. They could fill each other up, oh God, yes.**

**He clung to her, and she touched him without fear, and he shut his eyes under the dark hood and just felt her, just listened. This was not the Christine she was, but it was the Christine she _could_ be. Bold, all for him loving only him, desperate only for him. Needing _him._**

**Their voices matched perfectly and everything, everything aside from the quaking in his limbs that would not stop, was going so _well_ and yet-**

**And yet he could see the change in her eyes, in the set of her mouth when she realised that she was not singing to Ubaldo Piangi no- and he could see the confusion, wondering 'when-?' wondering 'how long-?'**

**She pushed the hood from his face too quickly - he'd just begun to register that change in her eyes which changed again to anger? No… but something close.**

**_Christine_.**

**He backed away from her, hand up for barely a moment, shielding his masked face from the audience - so silent now: Stand in front of an audience and you could make them believe anything was a lie, that anything was true, and that anything could be possible.**

**And then turned back to her, he slipped the gold ring from his smallest finger and gave it to her, and she took it in her own hands, and there were tears burning his eyes… and when she looked at him, something in him shattered and broke, even before she wrenched the mask from his face. Someone somewhere screamed.**

**He had only to catch hold of her fragile bird-wrist and disappear - he knew the opera house and it's tricks, and its secrets better than the whole staff combined. And so he whisked her away, and he put her in that wedding dress, and yet… there was a part of him, somewhere, buried deep, deep in the glowing embers of his heart, so far down that it was still quite black, that knew… that knew he would never have her, his Christine.**

_**Christine…**_

_**Past the point of no return, the final threshold**_

_**A bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn**_

_**We've passed the point of no return**_

* * *

Erik could feel her fear through the skin on the palm of his hand. He was scaring her; long gone were the days of where the sound of his voice or the music of his soul could fill her with ecstasy. Now, all he once meant to her was gone in replacement of horror and pain.

His own breathing was labored and for the first time in a long while his heart beat faster. It was difficult to make his heart pound, not even taking a person's life could bring this reaction from him anymore, but his plans for not so far in the future was doing the thing he thought long gone in the sharp moments of his past.

"Erik! Please! You're hurting me!"

He had to stop and laugh mockingly. "I'm _hurting _you, am I? I apologize profusely my dear, but I can't seem to force myself to care." His mismatched eyes stared her down. Dark brown and light blue met the soft brown of her irises, the main difference was that his were sharp with anger and her were wide with terror.

"Erik, please let me go." She began to weep openly as though that would change his mind. The crystalline tears falling from her large doe eyes.

"I fear that I cannot, my dear."

"Why? _Why?!_" she screamed at him unexpectedly. "Why can't you let me go, Erik. Why?" her own voice had become icy, almost as icy as his which was inconceivable.

"Because, you incompetent child," he snarled cruelly, "I have plans that I simply can't toss into the wind like a dandelion." And with that he was dragging her down to the lake beneath the Opera Populair.

Once there he tossed a silvery white dress at her. "Put this on." Oh the horror in her eyes increased, and he thought that was impossible. That night was proving many things he thought would never happen could.

She nodded weakly and made her way to somewhere where she could change without his eyes wandering her naked body.

He felt naked without the mask, and yet at the same time he felt as if he could do anything; like the world could not hide his disfigurement any longer. His long lasting weakness would be his greatest power.

Christine came out from her hiding spot, draped in white. She looked more beautiful than he had imagined. His heart ached the way it did when he realized that his mother would never love him enough to touch him with intentions of care or love. Christine only wore this dress out of fear, not because she loved him.

"Erik, you can still release me." She tried once again.

The pain of his mother left and was swiftly replaced with anger. "Do you know what my mother did to me, Christine?"

She shook her head slowly, confusion clouding her eyes.

He approached her slowly, almost threateningly. "I have been blessed with a memory no one wants, especially when their life has no happiness. My mother was the one who taught me I was unworthy of any kind of love. That no one would ever care for me. I came from her womb, and yet she despised me just the same. My first piece of clothing was a white mask that would hide my monstrous face from the world. The first gift she ever gave me was a way to hide from the human race that was bound to loathe me just because my _face _was different that all of theirs." He took a deep breath, but he needed her to understand that this was bound to happen. As if throwing all of his agony would prove to his deceased mother that her actions were wrong. "All I asked her for on the day of my first and last birthday party was a kiss. One for that day and one to save for another time. She hit me. It wasn't the first time of course, but she still hit me." At that point he shoved his mother's wedding ring onto her finger.

A single tear fell down Christine's face at his short tale of woe.

"That sounds surprising to you, but, really, the only love I ever got during my childhood was that of a dog. A dog named Sasha." He chocked on her name. It was small enough that Christine didn't notice, but it was the sign he desired so much to stop describing his pain.

"Erik, I am so sorry." She whispered.

"Why? Why should you be? You weren't even conceived at that point." He said flippantly, knowing she was naïve to apologize.

"Christine!" yelled the voice of the pathetic boy whom he knew would come for the young songstress his heart yearned for.

"Raoul! Don't! Run before it's too late!" Christine screamed, her precious voice rang with even deeper terror than before.

"Hello monsieur." He said, a smile distorting his already deformed features. He knew his face was disgusting to look upon when it was unveiled, let along when he had an expression.

"Let her go!" Raoul yelled at him.

"I apologize, but I will have to deny your plea. You will have to come and get her."

With that Raoul began to hike his way through the water.

"No Raoul!" Christine wailed, fear keeping her where she stood.

Erik entered the water to meet the boy, his strides longer than necessary so that they would meet right where he had hidden his expertly tied noose.

At that point he swiftly grabbed the noose and swung it around Raoul's neck with triumph.

Christine's shriek echoed on the stones of the underground cave.

After a brief struggle Erik had Raoul tied to the stone wall of the cave and the rope on a hook buried in the hard surface so a hanging could be committed with just a gentle tug.

"Now, Christine, make your choice." Erik half panted and half growled.

Christine's lower jaw trembled. "What?"

"Me or him. Choose me, he lives; choose him, he dies. _Make your choice_!" he roared at her.

Her head began to shake slowly then gained speed. "I can't. No."

Erik inhaled deeply, the sound high due to the fact he didn't have a nose. "Make your choice Christine. Now." His voice was low, cold, and laced with the threat of death.

"I can't!" she cried, stumbling forward.

Erik tugged sharply on the rope, choking the boy at the other end.

Christine whimpered.

"Do not doubt me, my dear. I will send him to his grave if need be."

"You lied to me." She said with cold resolve, approaching the two in the water, soaking her dress. "You deceived me and my innocence. I gave you and my heart blindly. I gave my heart and my soul to the Angel of Music, never did I even think that I would be giving my life to the Angel of Death." Her voice shook, but she stood her ground.

"You know my patience is, sadly, not the most abundant thing in the world, my dear. Make your choice or I shall be forced to make it for you!"

"Don't Christine! My life will end down here in this cavern whether the rope takes it or your voice. My heart is yours. Please don't sacrifice the end of your days for me." Raoul pleaded with the young woman he loved.

"You told me such a small fragment of your past, I know I can never truly understand the horrors that made you retreat into darkness and I can never heal you or change those things that occurred." She reached him at that point. His grip on the rope tightened. "I wish I had the strength to show you that you were never alone."

Then her lips touched his swollen ones. Hers were smooth and slightly wet, while his were bloated and didn't fit against hers in any way. Still, she kissed him strongly. She seemed to put every emotion she ever felt into that one kiss; her father's death, her memories of her childhood with Raoul, first meeting him, singing with him, everything. The sad parts, the happy parts; every emotion she ever felt. Some were foreign to Erik, but some he knew quite well.

When she pulled away his eyes were closed. When he opened them she stared at him, her own eyes wide with shock at herself.

Tears fell down his face. Her love for Raoul made her willing to bind herself to him for all eternity as long as Raoul could live.

Soft sobs exited his mouth as he turned towards the boy who was staring at the two as if he had failed at being a man.

Erik's hands shook then he flung the rope away from him in disgust. "Go! Leave me!" he ran towards his organ, the only safe place for him at that moment. When he turned he saw that the young couple was staring at him. "_Leave_!" he roared.

Christine hurried to her lover and quickly freed him. Swift kisses were exchanged.

"Go now and leave me alone!" Erik held his head screaming the same words he threw at his mother's friend when she had taken care of his bandages after breaking that wretched mirror on his fifth birthday.

The two went to the boat in a hurry.

Erik stumbled to his room and began to hum weakly, trying to get the raging music out of his mind. The fury he placed in _Don Juan Triumphant_, his only opera which was named in irony. He rocked himself back and forth, the happy music from the masquerade a while ago vibrating through his vocal cords.

A soft hand rested on his shoulder.

His head snapped towards his assailant.

Christine.

Of course it was her. She came to see him in his weakened state; maybe to kill him in anger of threatening her beloved.

She reached for his right hand and he found himself reaching for her the exact same way he reached for his mother in his youth. His mother's ring left her palm and landed in his own.

"Christine, I love you." He whispered weakly.

Rather than answering, instead she used both hands and curled his fingers around the small ring then kissed them once, her delicate lips softly caressing his fingers that had been assaulted by time and pain. When she stood to go he knew this was the end. The true end of _Don Juan Triumphant_.

In her exit she turned only once to see him with his hand still out, finger curled around the beautiful ring. A silent goodbye was in her eyes. The voice of Raoul made her return to her exit and she swept away from his life with the same grace she had when she entered it.

As they floated away on his boat he could hear the two murmuring their declarations of love to each other.

"It's over." Erik whispered, his breath was warm on his left hand rather than rebounding back to his face.

He stood and stumbled to his secret exit he had built in long ago. He could hear the angry crowd of people coming for him. Perhaps dropping a chandelier on an audience wasn't the best idea, but there was no changing it now.

Erik stumbled down the passages to find yet another place where he could hide in the shadows.

The soft music of the night was over. It left on the boat with his one love, and for the first time since his birth, Erik's mind was silent.

((Most of the information I used for my part of the story – that part that is not in bold – was from the book Phantom by Susan Kay, but some was from the musical.))


End file.
